


Vacation

by queenkrazykat



Series: Love and War [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Crush, Broken Bones, Cute Sam Winchester, Episode: s07e03 The Girl Next Door, F/M, Gossip Girl References, Grumpy Dean Winchester, Hallucinating Sam Winchester, Hallucination Lucifer (Supernatural) | Hallucifer, Humor, Leviathan Castiel (Supernatural), Leviathans, Light Angst, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Relationships, Protective Dean Winchester, Secret Crush, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Sweet Sam Winchester, Unrequited Crush, Worried Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29064258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenkrazykat/pseuds/queenkrazykat
Summary: The Winchesters had a reputation for turning up where they were least expected to be, but Emma had never taken those rumors seriously—not until they turned up at Sioux Falls General Hospital, right when she's investigating a case. [Based on: 7x03 The Girl Next Door]
Relationships: Bobby Singer & Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Sam Winchester & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Love and War [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075211
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 42nd birthday, Dean Winchester! (I know it's a bit late) but I just wanted to put this little note in celebrating the birthday of one of my favorite fictional characters.  
> 

The Winchesters were notorious within the hunter community and the source of much speculation. They were well-known for not only stopping the Apocalypse, but also for starting it, and if there was one thing that all hunters agreed on, it was that they had a bad habit of showing up where they were least expected to be. Emma had never taken those rumors seriously, but today, standing in that bare hospital ward with its frilly curtains and harsh white walls, she had to admit that there was some truth to them. Lying unconscious in front of her, an IV in his arm, right leg wrapped in a cast, was Dean Winchester.

Emma cautiously peeked outside the ward. The corridor outside was busy, filled with nurses walking to and fro, doctors consulting clipboards, janitors wheeling around cleaning equipment. But no one gave her a second look. She took the chance and shook Dean awake. "Dean! Hey!"

Dean jerked awake. He blinked a few times in the bright sunlight streaming through the window, first looking at her, and then around him. The faint warble of the PA system drifted in from the hallway outside.

"What are you doing here?" Emma demanded. "Are you here for the case?"

Dean shook his head, one hand pressed against his forehead. He looked in bad shape, sporting a spectacular purple bruise on his left cheek, and his eyes were red-rimmed. Emma felt slightly guilty about waking him up.

"Not here for a case," Dean grunted, ripping the IV out of his arm. He pushed back the covers and attempted to stand up—but almost immediately, he sat down with a thump.

"What—" Emma knelt down beside him. "What's wrong?"

Dean merely shook his head. He seemed unable to speak.

Emma grabbed the clipboard beside Dean's bed and rifled through the pages. "Morphine," she announced triumphantly. "It's because they gave you morphine for the surgery—"

The door to the ward opened and a man stepped in. Emma started, her heart leaping to her throat, but she relaxed when she saw who it was. Even though he had exchanged his usual flannel and jeans for a neat grey suit, there was no mistaking Bobby. 

Dean made a sound like a cat being strangled. "Bobby!" he exclaimed, staring at him wide-eyed. "You're alive!"

Bobby looked a little surprised, if not annoyed. "'Course I am,'" he said grumpily, as though it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. "Now, look—I don't have time to explain. We've got to run." He turned to Emma without waiting for Dean's reply; if he was at all surprised that she was there too, he didn't show it. "Get him to the ambulance dock as soon as you can. I'll find Sam." He was back out the door almost before he finished speaking.

"What was that about?" Emma said, as Bobby's retreating figure disappeared down the corridor. She turned to Dean, who was attempting to pull himself to his feet using the bedframe as support. 

"No time," Dean said through gritted teeth. "We've got to get out of here."

Emma hesitated for a second, and then gave in. She trusted Dean to have a good reason for wanting to leave the hospital. "Alright," she said, striding over to him and helping him to his feet. "Get in the bed."

* * *

Two minutes later, Emma slowly wheeled Dean's bed out of the ward. Once outside, she paused, looking uneasily up and down the corridor.

"Okay, remember—you're supposed to be dead," Emma muttered under her breath. "So don't move around much. In fact, try not to breathe."

"How am I supposed to do that?!"

Emma ignored Dean's harsh whispers and checked that he was properly covered by the sheet. Only the very tips of his hair were visible. 

The bed was bulky, and the wheels grated against the smoothly tiled floors. Emma did her best, but she could not stop the bed from colliding heavily with the wall as she struggled to navigate the turning. There was an angry _oomph!_ from under the sheet.

"Would you stop fidgeting?" Emma whispered fiercely.

"You're banging me into the _freaking wall_ —"

"Poor guy kicked the bucket last night," Emma said loudly to a nurse as they passed by. "Just wheeling him down to the morgue."

"Nurses don't talk like that," Dean muttered from under the sheet.

Emma ignored him again. She was too preoccupied with keeping an eye on the nurse, who had been shooting them suspicious looks all down the hallway. As she jammed the 'down' button on the elevator, she spotted the nurse talking earnestly to a nearby doctor.

They made it to the lobby with no other problems. Now feeling nervous, Emma wheeled the bed quickly towards the ambulance dock, which was at the very back, next to the emergency exit.

"We're almost there," she whispered to Dean.

"HOLD IT!"

Emma stuttered to a halt and whirled around. The doctor who had been talking to the nurse earlier was striding towards them, his long white coat flapping behind him like the wings of a bat.

Emma was flustered, but only for a second. She opened her mouth to spin some elaborate lie—it had always been her specialty—but Dean sat up straight, startling several nearby nurses, and the cover tumbled off him to the floor. "Shit! That's him! Go go go!"

"What—him? The _doctor?"_

The doctor was striding rapidly towards them, shoving people out of the way. His teeth were gritted, almost in a snarl.

"YES! NOW GO!" Dean bellowed.

Emma set off at full tilt, sending several people leaping out of her way. She crashed through the exit doors and onto the ambulance dock, where, mercifully, Bobby was waiting in an ambulance, doors open, engine running.

"Get in!" he roared, as the doctor burst out of the exit doors behind them. Dean tumbled out of the bed, and Emma shoved him unceremoniously through the back doors. Sam was already inside, unconscious. Emma had barely stepped in after Dean when Bobby gunned the accelerator, sending Emma crashing headlong into Dean, the doors swinging wildly.

"Shit! Sorry!" Emma gingerly picked herself up, but Bobby made a hard right just then, sending Emma crashing into Sam instead. 

Dean banged on the partition separating them from the driver's cab with his fist. "For the love of God, Bobby, _slow down!_ "

* * *

Bobby drove like a madman for the next thirty minutes, sending them careening around corners and jumping red lights. It was all Dean could do to sit in one place and avoid being tossed about like a rag doll. Emma was sitting opposite him, gripping the grab handles so tightly that her knuckles were white. Once they were safely out of the city, she turned to him with a determined expression on her face. "Okay, what the _hell_ just happened back there?"

Dean gave a tremendous sigh. His head was buzzing, and he felt dizzy, but after all Emma had done for them, first with Lisa and Ben and now this, he felt she was owed an explanation, at least.

He explained how Castiel had opened the door to Purgatory, and absorbed millions of souls in his insane attempt to defeat the archangel Raphael. And when he had tried to send the souls back to Purgatory, a race of ancient and extremely powerful monsters called the Leviathans had managed to cling on to him and were now running wild. 

By the time he finished, Emma was staring at him with a mixture of disbelief, fear and awe. "What the fuck," she whispered, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Okay, first of all—*Purgatory?* That exists? Not to mention—archangels? Civil war? What the actual fuck?!"

"First things first," Bobby said from the driver's compartment. "We need a place to crash."

Emma was staring at the floor, wide-eyed, but she sat up straight at Bobby's words, seemingly pulling herself together. "I know a place," she said, her voice slightly hoarse. "Take a left, here."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Song pairing** \- [CALL ME MAYBE // CARLY RAE JEPSEN](https://open.spotify.com/track/20I6sIOMTCkB6w7ryavxtO?si=ClBJmPIMSgGv2N-1ZtsW_w)  
> (I swear, this is what I listened to while writing the Sam/Emma scene)

Dean watched Emma pace back and forth in front of the couch, wringing her hands. She was still wearing the outfit she'd worn at the hospital—blazer, dress pants and dress shoes. Her fake glasses were sitting abandoned on the coffee table, but her fake ID—proclaiming her to be a public health inspector—was still clipped to the lapel of her blazer.

"Let me get this straight," she said sharply, stopping in front of him. "These Leviathan thingies—was the doctor at the hospital one of them?"

"Yeah, he was," Dean said, leaning forward. And you said you were there for a case, right?"

Emma nodded and sat down beside him, being careful to steer clear of his broken leg. "Yeah. There were patients turning up dead with organs missing. I thought maybe it was a Kappa—but it wasn't just the livers that were missing. Whatever this thing was—it ate  _ everything _ —kidneys, hearts, eyes, you name it." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "There's one thing I don't get," she added, frowning. "Now that the Leviathans are out, what happened to Castiel?"

Dean hesitated, feeling a lump in his throat. Where  _ was _ Castiel? Dean couldn't bring himself to believe he was dead. In fact, he'd actively steered clear of the topic, as if the mere thought of it would make it come true. "I don't know," he said shortly. A neutral answer was the best way to go.

Emma nodded absent-mindedly, fingering her badge. "And what about Balthazar?"

Dean was taken aback by the sudden change in topic; he couldn't imagine why she would be worried about Balthazar. "Balthazar's dead."

She whirled around to face him, startled. " _ Dead? _ How could—how—"

Dean looked away, out of the window, at the giant oak tree that stood in front of the house, shielding it from the view of the main road. "Castiel killed him."

Emma ran her hands through her hair again, making it stick up in the side—she didn't seem to notice. "But—but why?" she said, finally. "Why would Castiel kill him? I didn't even know angels could be killed—I thought they were friends? Didn't Castiel actually  _ help _ Balthazar with that whole Titanic business?"

Dean rubbed a weary hand over his face. He wished Emma would stop talking—he didn't want to think about Castiel anymore. The light-headedness from the morphine has worn off, and a dull, pounding pain was beginning to replace it. "Nice outfit, by the way," he said. "You really sell the whole librarian shtick."

It was a clumsy attempt to change the topic, and Emma knew it. She gave him a look that said,  _ Seriously? _ , but Dean was saved from her wrath by Bobby, who entered the living room from the hallway behind them.

"Well, our little Sleeping Beauty is tucked up in bed," he said, throwing himself into the armchair next to the couch. He loosened his tie. "He should be fine by tomorrow morning—it's just a mild concussion."

Dean smiled at the thought of Sam getting tucked into bed by Bobby—in a suit and tie, no less.

"Great," Emma said. She kicked off her dress shoes and stood up. "There's another bedroom downstairs, I think—you could probably take that one, Dean—and Bobby, you can just pick any of the other rooms you want." She headed for the stairs, her dress shoes dangling from her hand. 

Bobby gave a low whistle. "I still can't believe she owns this place." 

Dean looked around again, slowly taking in his surroundings. Was it just a house? Perhaps  _ mansion _ was a better word. The floor was made of stripped wood, and the furniture was expensive but not too over-the-top. There was modern art on the walls—all very tasteful, but ordinary. The lights were those soft yellow incandescent types. Everything went together very well, lending the house a relaxed and homely ambience.

The one thing that really stood out was the glossy black 55-inch television screen positioned in front of the couch. It felt a little out of place in that house with its understated furniture and decoration, but Dean wasn't going to complain.

* * *

The next morning, Emma woke up as abruptly and completely as if someone had yelled in her ear. The clock showed half-past eight—she had slept in. Yawning, she slouched into the kitchen and set to make a cup of coffee. The coffee machine, having been out of use for so long, spluttered angrily for a few minutes before Emma got it to work. She was just reaching for a packet of sugar when Sam walked in. 

Emma jumped, almost dropping the mug she was holding.

Sam stopped in his tracks, looking sheepish. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's alright," Emma said lightheartedly, trying to calm her racing heart. She set the mug down and gave Sam a sideways glance. He looked remarkably lucid for someone who had suffered a concussion only a day ago. "Want some coffee?" 

"Yeah, thanks."

As Emma busied herself with the coffee machine again, Sam walked across the kitchen and sat down at the small kitchen table. His long legs barely fit under it; the thought brought a smile to Emma's face.

"So, how are you feeling?" she said, sliding a mug of steaming coffee across the table towards him. "You were in pretty bad shape yesterday."

"Surprisingly okay," Sam admitted, wrapping a large hand around his mug. "I mean—my brain feels like scrambled eggs, but apart from that..." He took a sip, looking around the kitchen. It was small, but brightly lit in the early morning sunlight, which streamed in through the kitchen window. "Where are we, by the way?"

Emma sipped her own coffee. "Just outside Sioux Falls," she said. "One of my safe houses."

Sam set down his mug. "It's... fancy."

Emma grinned. "It used to belong to this rich old lady I once worked a case for. Her husband's ghost was wreaking havoc in the town—anyway, took care of it in a jiffy. After that, she wanted to sell place and I convinced her to sell it to me."

Sam smiled. It was a half-smile, the kind that pulled up one side of his mouth and brought out the dimple in his cheek. Emma suddenly became aware that she had simply walked downstairs in her t-shirt and sweatpants, whereas Sam looked like he had already showered and dressed. She took a hasty sip of her coffee.

"I know this is none of my business," Sam said suddenly, "and no pressure—but how did you—I mean..." He gestured vaguely around the room.

Emma couldn't help the small smile that crossed her lips. She knew what Sam was asking—it was a topic that had been brought up often enough by the other hunters. "You mean, how did I afford this place, being a full-time hunter and all?"

Sam spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Yep."

Emma drained the last of her coffee. "You've heard of Barlow?"

"Barlow," Sam echoed. "Barlow, as in—Barlow Petroleum Corp?"

"The very same," Emma replied, getting up and walking over to the sink, depositing her mug with a clatter. She hesitated for a second, and then added, "George Barlow was my grandfather."

Sam's eyes widened. "Whoa. So—you own the company now?"

"Not exactly," Emma said, leaning back against the counter and turning to face him. "I own some of it, but my cousin does all the... well, he actually runs the company." She smirked a little. "I just get a cut of the profits."

Sam stretched his arms above his head, causing his shirt to lift slightly and revealing a slit of skin beneath. "Well, that makes things really convenient."

Emma looked away, cursing the slight heat that she felt creeping into her cheeks. "Yeah, it does."

* * *

The next five weeks seemed to crawl, but not painfully so. Emma had been dreading being stuck in the house for weeks with nobody but Dean, Sam, and Bobby for company, but it was actually quite pleasant. Although they were close to Sioux Falls—just on the outskirts, in fact—it seemed much more remote, since the house was tucked away in the woods, at least half a mile away from the main road. If not for the news reports on mysterious deaths and accidents all over the country, it would have almost been like a vacation.

Emma had also been wary of living in a house with three men that she barely knew, but she needn't have bothered. Sam was polite, friendly, helpful, and endlessly grateful. Emma took an instant liking to him. He was also fascinated with how close-knit she seemed to be with her fellow hunters; for him, hunting had always been somewhat of a lonely profession, and he often spent weeks with no one but Dean for company.

Dean was an entirely different matter. Confined to the couch with his broken leg, Dean whiled away the hours by discovering and rediscovering every TV show he could find. He watched the entirety of  _ Gossip Girl _ and got hooked to  _ Dr Phil _ . However, his favorite was an obscure Spanish telenovela called  _ Sin senos no hay paraiso _ , which he watched religiously every afternoon.

Emma couldn't understand his obsession, because as far as she knew, Dean  _ couldn't _ speak Spanish. Nevertheless, he roped Bobby into it too, and the two of them would often start yelling in Spanish at the screen, though Dean only knew one word— _ idiota. _

Dean also marked Emma as his sworn enemy, mostly because she refused to let him cut off his cast. The worst part of it was how similar she and Dean were in temperament—both were quick to anger, and didn't hold back on the yelling. Sam remarked on it more than once, much to Emma's chagrin. But Emma found a quick solution: if Dean got on her nerves too much, she simply took his crutches away and left them in the kitchen, leaving him cussing loudly on the couch. Sam had laughed uproariously the first time she had done it.

Bobby spent most of his time in the study, where Emma kept most of her lore and books. It was an impressive collection, containing contributions from almost every hunter Emma knew—in fact, Emma had bought the house with the intention of converting it into a safe house of sorts, where hunters who needed a place to crash could stay. She'd given a key to most of the hunters she knew.

Bobby was extremely upset at losing his house—which Dean explained had been burned down—but he seemed a little pacified by her collection of books. The rest of the time, he spent in town, trying to learn what he could about the Leviathans.

Apparently, they had started to spread, popping up in towns and cities all over the country. Emma received calls from Jackie, Evan, and Matt, and Bobby's contacts got in touch with him too, giving him the latest news. But Jen still maintained a stony silence. Emma tried not to dwell on it too much, which was easy enough during the day, occupied as she was with shapeshifting, man-eating monsters, but at night, it became much harder.

She still dreamt about Jonathan, but now the dreams were more twisted, becoming macabre plays of reality. Once, she dreamt that he had worn a mask and chased her through a maze, singing  _ Three Blind Mice _ the whole time. Another night, she dreamt that her mother, her brother, and Jonathan were all puppets in a play. The hooks impaled in their shoulders held them upright, and the smaller hooks in the corners of their mouths lifted their dead lips in a permanent smile. She, the sole member of the audience, had to watch as they put on a grisly play which culminated in their deaths.

Sam seemed to be having problems sleeping too. Emma often ran into him downstairs at around three or four in the morning, nursing a cup of coffee and staring vacantly into space. He always brushed it off when she asked him about it, but the bags under his eyes and his pale skin were dead giveaways.

She had put it down to nightmares from past trauma—a part of the job description for hunters—but a conversation she overheard between Dean and Bobby one late night suggested that there might be more to it.

She had been having trouble sleeping that night—a common occurrence—and had decided to treat herself to a mug of chamomile tea. When she got to the top of the stairs, she saw Dean stretched out on the couch as usual, and Bobby beside him in the armchair.

"—check out  _ once. _ That's progress," Bobby was saying a low voice.

Emma froze, one foot glued to the step below her.

Dean scoffed. From her point of view, she could only see the backs of their heads, but she could tell that Dean was quite upset. "You've got to be kidding."

Bobby sighed and shifted in his chair. "Look, Dean—people heal on curves. Sam's head ain't no different to your leg."

"Not diff—" Dean leaned forward and jabbed a finger at the air. "Bobby, I get this cast off in three weeks, and I'm golden. Sam, on the other hand, is a freaking time bomb."

"It ain't like he's keeping secrets. What you see is what you get. What's so nuts about calling an upswing?"

"Because that's not how it works, Bobby! Ever!" Dean leaned back a little and seemed to regain his composure. When he spoke again, some of the anger had left his voice. "Especially not with Sam. The other shoe  _ will _ drop—it's just a matter of when."

Heart beating fast, Emma tiptoed back to her bedroom and quietly closed the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Emma chewed on what she had heard for the next two weeks. She also found herself constantly watching Sam from now on, as though he really  _ was _ a time bomb, bound to go off at any moment. For the most part, he seemed alright, but sometimes, he would stare off into space, or at an empty chair or spot, as if watching something that only he could see. It was, to say the least, creepy.

She never had the courage to bring it up to Dean, though. A part of her felt uncomfortable about admitting that she had been eavesdropping on him and Bobby, and another part of her was scared to find out what was happening to Sam—as if Dean would ever tell her.

Dean was watching a rerun of  _ Gossip Girl _ when Emma wandered downstairs at around three in the morning, a couple of weeks after the eavesdropping incident.

"Hey," he said. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Nope," Emma replied, making a beeline for the kitchen. Dean could hear the clatter of cups and her soft footsteps on the wooden floor. On the screen, Blair was saying haughtily to Dan, "I would rather be with no one than be with you."

"Brutal," Emma said. She had returned from the kitchen, holding two steaming mugs, one of which she handed to Dean. "I didn't know you were a  _ Gossip Girl _ fan."

" _ Gossip Girl _ is peak American television," Dean said sagely. He took a sip from his mug and choked. "What the—this tastes like cat's piss!"

Emma cocked her head at him. "How do you know what cat's piss tastes like?" When Dean looked unimpressed by her comeback, she added, "It's chamomile tea."

Dean grumbled a little more.

"You don't have to drink it," Emma said finally. Dean realized that he had perhaps hurt her feelings a little—after all, she had made it for him without him even asking for it.

"No, no, it's good," Dean said immediately, and took another sip. There was silence for a while, broken only by the sounds of Blair and Dan arguing heatedly.

"I realize I never thanked you for what you did, you know," Dean blurted out, keeping his gaze determinedly on the screen. He could feel Emma turn to him in surprise.

"What are you talking about?"

Dean cleared his throat and met her gaze. "Lisa and Ben. So—thank you."

Emma turned away from him and raised her mug to her lips. She said nothing. 

"Why did you do it?"

Emma leaned forward and placed her mug on the coffee table. "Because it's what we  _ do _ , Dean. We're hunters, aren't we?" As she said it, she absent-mindedly gripped her forearm, pushing up the sleeve of her shirt a little, and Dean caught a glimpse of a long, pale scar.

Emma saw him looking, and quickly pulled up the sleeve of her shirt to hide it. "How did you become a hunter?"

Dean gave a humorless smile. "We were born into it."

There was a moment of silence. Then Emma said, "That must be lonely."

Dean didn't know what to say to that. He supposed it  _ was _ lonely, but he had never known anything else either. Hunting was his whole life. "What about you?" he said.

Emma pulled her legs up under her and settled back against the couch. "The same way most hunters do—they lost people they loved to something they didn't understand. Plus," she added, "I'd always wanted to be a doctor and save lives—now, I just do it in a different way."

There was truth in what she said. Very few hunters that Dean knew had been born into the life. In fact, he couldn't think of  _ anyone _ who'd been born into the life other than his mother. Most of them had lost family, friends, partners, to something supernatural—hell, it had happened to his own father. They were initially fueled by a desire for revenge, or understanding, or they were simply looking for something to blame. But soon enough, hunting got its hooks into their soul, and then it never let them go.

"Now, shush," Emma said, smiling slightly. "I want to know who the Gossip Girl is."

* * *

Emma woke up as the first rays of sunlight began to creep into the living room. She had fallen asleep sometime last night, her head resting uncomfortably in the crook of her arm. Dean was asleep on the other end of the couch, head laid back, mouth open. Emma had to bite back a laugh at the sight.

She got up and stretched. Her phone beeped, indicating that she had received a text message. It was from Evan.

_ Got a lead on a bunch of shapeshifters down in Des Moines. Need help. How soon can u get here? _

Emma tapped out a quick reply:

_ Leaving rn. Be there in 5 hrs. _

She was just about to poke Dean awake when something on the coffee table caught her eye—a piece of paper in Sam's handwriting, pinned down by an empty glass. Emma picked it up. It contained no more than eight words:

_ Back in a few days. I'm fine. _

_ ~ Sam _

Emma frowned. She thought it was odd that Sam would go off on his own; she had never seen one Winchester brother without the other—well, except for that time in Cold Oak. But Sam hadn't come there willingly—none of them had. 

Or maybe she just didn't know them that well.

She poked Dean in the shoulder. "Oi! Dean!"

Dean jerked awake. Emma felt a little guilty about startling him. "Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep," she said. "But I've got to leave—there's a case down in Des Moines. Sam left this note for you, by the way—"

Dean snatched the note and finished reading it before she had even finished speaking. "Fuck," Emma heard him mutter under his breath. He grabbed his phone from the coffee table, dialed feverishly, and pressed it to his ear. There must have been no reply, because Dean cursed again and then dialed another number.

"Bobby!" he said. "Other shoe!"

Emma watched the exchange in bewilderment. Dean listened to Bobby for a moment, and then said loudly, "This me-time doesn't just involve  _ him _ , Bobby. For all we know, he's road-tripping with Lucifer somewhere, leaving me here like freaking Jimmy Stewart."

"Dean?" Emma felt the need to cut in. "Lucifer? What—"

Dean didn't give any sign that he had even heard her. He hung up and struggled to his feet, being careful not to put any weight on his broken leg. He reached for his crutches.

"Why all the drama?" Emma demanded. "He's just gone on a case—"

"Emma, you don't understand," Dean said sharply. "Sam's not well." He limped over to the cabinet on the other side of the room and began rummaging through the drawers. "I know I left it here—aha!" He held up an angle grinder.

"Whoa, whoa, Dean," Emma protested. "You've still got a week left before the cast comes off—"

Dean paid no attention to her again. Instead, he pressed the angle grinder against his cast, and the rest of Emma's protests were lost in the noise of the angle grinder.

Soon enough, the cast lay in pieces on the ground, and Dean was testing out his leg. It seemed fully healed.

"You're sure you're good to go?" Emma asked Dean as he rummaged around for his car keys.

"Yep," Dean said, holding up his keys in triumph and beginning an equally frantic search for his jacket.

"Well, I’m heading down to Des Moines now," Emma reminded him, as Dean hurried past, his jacket half-on, his right sleeve dangling forlornly. "So I’ll see you—"

"Yep!" Dean yelled, already out the front door.

Slightly bemused, Emma headed upstairs to pack. She had a funny feeling that she would run into the Winchesters soon enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since I NEVER get any of Dean's references, I just thought I'd add this little piece to give some extra info. In this episode, Dean makes a reference to Jimmy Stewart. James (or Jimmy) Stewart was an actor in the 1930s-1990s. He acted in a movie called _Rear Window_ (1954) in which Jimmy Stewart plays a wheelchair-bound photographer who spies on his neighbors and becomes convinced that one of them has committed murder. So yeah, that's what Dean was referring to.
> 
> Also, digressing a bit here, but I'M SO EXCITED TO SEE JENSEN IN THE BOYS! I started watching the The Boys when it came out, and I LOVED it. You know that amazing feeling when two of the things you love come together to make something... amazing-er? And you're just left screaming silently and fangirling on the inside. Homelander and Soldier Boy... I'm so ready to see those two on screen together.


End file.
